


Crows and Butterflies

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Sports RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No wives/no children, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, no Poker (dog)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: Ever since he was a child, Neymar had trouble with eating. He never ate a lot, even as a toddler, and despised desserts. People brushed it off as a kid thing, but when he was almost at his teenage years, something in him took a turn for the worse. He started eating less and less, though he always had some sort of excuse for it. Still, no one questioned it, or even asked about his well being as it manifested into an eating disorder. He now plays for FC Barçelona and the Brazilian National team. He still has what he considers to be an eating disorder, but it is undiagnosed. No one knows but him. Will his secret get out?





	Crows and Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! I am still working on La Liga, but this story just came to me today. I planned on doing the same kind of theme, but with Messi instead, but it worked better with Neymar. I hope you guys enjoy!!! 
> 
> Also I really like Dani as a comforting/protective person in Ney's life. Characters and tags will be added as this progresses.
> 
> This is about May 2017. It will not follow any particular real life thing, such as games or what they do IRL.
> 
> Sorry if things are different in Spain hospitals, I'm just basing it off of my experience in America.

Ten minutes left in the game, he could do it, he could make it, just ten more minutes. That was five minutes twice, one minute ten times, but everything was so cloudy. There were specks in his vision and things seemed to be going dark. He had to make it to the end and then he would reward himself with a banana as it only had one hundred and five calories, his only intake so far for the day. It was hot, temperatures reaching ninety degrees fahrenheit, though it was the humidity that was taking its toll on him. They were playing a home game against Sevilla and they were winning two to one; there was no chance the other team could get a goal quickly enough, but he hedged his bets on this one because they were playing a fierce game. Although Barcelona had possession most of the time, Sevilla took the most shots on the goals, giving Marc-André a run for his money. The tall German had trouble blocking sometimes, yet he managed it almost every time, except the one where the opponents scored their only goal, right in the corner of the net. The crowd’s energy could be felt throughout the stadium, chants, cheers, and screams echoing the walls and field. 

“¡Força Barça!” Was the most clear one he could make out, followed by some cheers about Messi, who was dodging other players and racing toward the goal.

Neymar was walking along side, trying to conserve his energy, when the ball was suddenly passed to his feet since he was closest to the goal. He stopped and was about to run with it, except he didn’t, and collapsed onto the ground instead. The last thing he heard was a scream from the crowd and cleats running toward him, though he could not make out who owned them, and lost consciousness. He knew he shouldn’t have fasted for so long before a game, but he was feeling particularly disgusting with himself this week. Every time he sat down, it seemed like his stomach turned into fat rolls, although anyone could clearly see it was pure muscle. His thighs felt the biggest, his brain registering it as fat as well. He had always had disordered eating for as long as he could remember, probably from age nine or ten. A bully from his hometown in Mogi das Cruzes constantly called him fat and made fun of him, which didn’t help his relationship with his body and food. He knew he was skinny, thinner than his friends, but that didn’t stop him from hating himself. 

Bright artificial lights broke through his closed eyes and he forced them open with a quiet groan, blinking away his sleep and reaching up with his left arm to rub at his eyes. He noticed something odd protruding from his arm and when he brought his elbow closer to examine it, he discovered it was an intravenous line. Puzzled, he continued his investigation of his body and found EKG lines connected to patches on his chest to monitor his heart rate. A pulse-ox was on one finger, but he followed the lines of the EKG to the machine that was nearby and watched his heart beat on the screen. It looked normal and he was relieved to find out, but he was wondering what had happened. Once he got his bearings, he caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see what it was. One of his best friends, Lionel Messi, was passed out in a chair in the corner of the room. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry, so he found it hard to use his voice. Pathetic noises came out, but he managed to get out “Messi”, and his friend woke up with a jump.

“Thank god, Neymar,” The other player breathed, stretching his arms out and standing up to come over to him.

After swallowing a few times, he was able to speak coherently, “What happened, Leo?”

“You collapsed on the field and passed out, we were all very concerned,” Lionel responded, furrowing his eyebrows in worry.

“Oh..who won?” 

“We did, two to one, but I’m glad you’re awake. You’ve been out all day,”

Neymar looked at him with confusion and frowned, reaching his hand up with the pulse ox to rub at his nose because he felt something weird there and it also was itching. His thumb brushed up against a thin tube and he froze, eyes widening, as the realization sunk in. His stomach lurched and he felt like he was going to throw up while anxiety made his heart race, which was obvious from the change on the monitor he was hooked up to. He was being force fed through a tube and he wanted to scream from the thought of how many calories he was ingesting. His face felt hot, his hands were clammy, and he was certain Messi was continuing on about something, but his ears were ringing. He finally understood he was in a hospital room; the white walls and rough white sheet covering his legs and abdomen gave it away. The room had a chemical smell to it as if it had just been cleaned and he glanced down at the floor to see a bedpan next to him so he could urinate without having to get up to use the bathroom.

“Nurse,” He interrupted Leo who was muttering something about another player, “Get the nurse.”

He was trying to sit himself up while the shorter man left into the hallway to get a nurse for him, though he couldn’t right himself and fell back against the hard mattress. “Good evening, Señor Santos, how are you feeling?” The voice of the nurse got him to look up.

The man was wearing a set of green scrubs and was carrying a clipboard which he had resting against one arm. “Fine, how are you feeling?” He was snide in his remark, not wanting small talk.

“That’s good to hear, I’m doing well, thank you for asking. My name is Adrián, and the doctor taking care of you is Dr. Agular. I am going to ask you a few questions to get started, so just answer them the best you can. Have you been eating okay, lately?” The nurse questioned, looking over his notes.

“I’ve been eating fine,” Neymar murmured, tensing up at the question, discovering that Messi was still in the room and watching him.

“Okay, do you know why you are here today?”

“No,”

“You collapsed during a futbol game and were brought here via ambulance. We ran tests and after examinations, determined you were not getting an adequate amount of food. Dr. Aguilar decided it was in your best interests to start feeding you through a nasogastric tube, which is what is in your nose. Considering your career, you are getting around three thousand calories through it right now,”

It was at that moment Neymar began cursing, saying a slew of things in Portuguese as his anger and distress became paramount. He was beginning to cry as his cursing turned into screams and he thrashed at the bed, kicking his sheet onto the floor, revealing his nude body. This furthered his emotions and he attempted to rip out the nasal tube, but it was in that moment that four other nurses raced in and pinned his arms down to the bed. He tried kicking them while screaming, though they restrained his legs as well. He kept trying to lift himself up and was able to see Lionel backing out of the room, face pale, and he knew something broke in the man. The door was slammed shut by a sixth nurse who entered to observe the commotion and as he sobbed, he tried ripping his arms away from the two holding them down. Within less than a minute, something was pushed into his IV and he began to feel calmer, eventually relaxing his body and falling into another sleep. Three thousand calories was way too much for him to handle, as he usually consumed less than one thousand a day.

When he woke up again, no light filtering in from the curtains covering his window and the lights in the room were off. He had no phone on him, so he had to rely on the clock on the wall, which was hard to make out without light. It seemed to read, five o’clock, which combined with a dark room, made him decide it was morning. He was alone this time and he remembered that visitors were not allowed overnight unless they were immediate family, but no one had come to see him. He assumed Leo had contacted his folks back in Brazil and kept them updated on what was going on, more than likely telling them not to come up because it wasn’t a huge emergency. Neymar was thankful for that. He lifted his head and sighed at the sore muscles in his neck and felt around for a remote to let a nurse know he was awake. He found one hanging off the side of his bed and pressed a glowing red button on it before turning on the television. Some news channel was on, so he left it there, watching the reports unfold. It had just finished talking about the weather and switched to something else; that something turned out to be Neymar. They were discussing the game and how he collapsed and were bringing up rumours that he had cancer or something drastic like that. 

He quickly changed the channel to a talk show when the nurse knocked on the door and came in. They flicked on the switch and watched him, standing with tense shoulders, obviously having heard of his reaction earlier. He just stared at this new person who was now going over their notes just as Adrián had yesterday. Neymar wasn't happy, but he knew he wasn't likely to flip out again like before because he wasn't too keen on being held down and knocked out. The room was silent aside from the television, beeping monitor, and sudden scream from his intravenous bag to let the hospital staff know it needed to be replaced with new saline. He looked up at it, almost completely empty, and looking rather deflated. He snorted as it reminded him of his emotions on the daily. Sure, he was happy playing fútbol, loved the money, and loved his friends he considered his family, but the weight of depression was too hard to make himself always happy. 

“How are you today, Señor Santos?” The nurse asked, stepping more into the room as another person came in to change the IV bag. 

“I'm thirsty,” He said, yawning and touching his face again to feel the tube. 

It was gone and it brought him relief to know it was and there was no longer food shoved into his body. He got the nurse to adjust his bed so he could sit up properly to drink the ice water he was brought. It was cold in the room, but the blanket was helping somewhat to keep him warm. He requested a warm blanket and it was brought to him and draped around his shoulders. He could almost fall asleep again, though he was far from tired and he wanted to leave the hospital. The nurse checked his vitals and talked for a while before leaving and allowed him the chance to agree to allow visitors to see him. No one had entered in a couple hours, however, and eventually someone came in with a breakfast for him. He poked at the scrambled eggs and put a forkful in his mouth, making obnoxious “mmm” sounds to ensure the person wouldn't question him. Once they left, he spat it back out and grumbled, not willing to eat any food at the moment. Neymar had no clue how he was going to hide the food because he was connected to all these things. He decided he would have to shuffle and pulled himself up off of the bed. He grabbed the tray in one hand and the IV machine in the other, his hands shaking and making a little bit of food fall onto the floor. 

He ignored it and somehow managed to get into the bathroom. He held the fork back while he dumped it into the toilet and flushed it; feeling rather exhausted he simply tossed the tray into the room into the floor. It made a loud sound and he sighed, trying to keep himself standing. The room was spinning and he leaned against the counter for a few moments until it stopped and pushed himself up again. He shuffled into the main room and let himself fall onto the floor. Immediately, someone entered the room and Neymar grumbled, not looking forward to another medical personnel. The person approached the bed and slowly sat down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. He turned his head to see who it was and noticed Dani, who then pulled him close and kissed the top of his head in a friendly way. Neymar pushed himself as close as possible to his friend and closed his eyes, inhaling the light cologne he was wearing. It brought him comfort. 

“Neymar, what happened?” Dani whispered, pulling him halfway into his lap. 

“Guess I passed out,” He replied, pressing his face into the other Brazilian’s chest. 

“That wasn't just passing out, something caused it,” 

“I don't know. Nurse said I wasn't eating well, so I guess that's it,” 

He felt his friend sigh and grip him tighter, “Leo wants to see you. He won't unless you say it's okay,”

Neymar tensed and was quiet as he contemplated seeing the other forward, especially since he witnessed his breakdown yesterday.

“Something happened last night, I lost it, Dani. I fucking lost it,” He gripped the taller man’s shirt and frowned, thinking about what was going to happen. 

“Do you want to see Leo?” The Juventus defender pressed. 

“I guess, yeah. I'm just scared,”

Dani rubbed his back and sat with him for a little bit before helping Neymar lay back in the bed and adjusted it so he could lie down. He tugged the blankets up to his chin and watched as Dani left to the hallway. About a minute passed by and Leo entered the room, frowning, and staring at his body. Neymar swallowed and turned his head, shame filling him, because he was embarrassed that Messi saw him freak out. He didn't want to look at his friend and he was anxious that Dani didn't come back, but he knew Lionel would be gentle. It was hard, however, because Messi was his idol and he looked up to him in every aspect of the sense. He chose to stare at the wall next to him and flinched when the older man sat down at the end of the bed. He would never reveal his eating disorders, but questions would arise. How would he explain any of this to Leo? He would never reveal his eating disorders, but questions would arise.


End file.
